Hazel looked at the reflection in the mirror, and smiled in spite of herself. What a contrast to what she was a year ago! For to-morrow would be St. Valentine's day. There were real American Beauty roses on her cheeks; the dark eyes were full of sparkling life; the chestnut-brown hair fell in heavy curls upon her shoulders. She had grown tall, too, but rounded in the process, and the healthful, bodily exercise had given her grace of carriage—she was straight as an arrow, and as lithe as a willow wand.
"Perhaps I shall feel more interest when Miss Alton is here, for she is a regular teacher. When is she coming, Rose?"
"The very last of the month, when the spring term opens. It's our turn to have the district-school teacher board with us, and I've never liked it before. But now I can't wait for Miss Alton to come. I think she's lovely."
"She is n't half as lovely as you are, Rose," said Hazel, turning suddenly from the glass, in which she had been scrutinizing her reflection, and giving Rose an unexpected squeeze and a hearty kiss. "I think you are the most beautiful girl I have ever seen, I heard Doctor Heath say so; and I told Jack so on Christmas night."
"I'll warrant he did n't agree with you," said Rose, with a pleased smile. "You forget Miss Seaton."
"I know." Hazel shook her head dubiously. "He did n't say a word to me about you—I don't care if he did n't, Rose-pose, you're worth all the Maude Seatons in
